SixShooter
by magistrate
Summary: Six stories, twelve people, one question. How long does it take for conflicts to be forgiven?
1. Changing The Story

**_Changing The Story  
(A.K.A. One Day Down At The Shooting Range)_**  
  
Irvine Kinneas stepped into the Shooting Range as if he belonged there, tipping his stetson to the young woman who was handling the targets and glancing toward his favorite stall.  
  
It was occupied--but not by anyone he would have expected to see there.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, customary aplomb a bit ruffled. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the target-setter giving him a veiled knowing look, and--for dignity and public image--walked straight up to the man.  
  
"I didn't know you shot," he said, walking up the the headmaster of Galbadia Garden as if they talked candidly every day.  
  
Martine looked up--literally up, as Irvine was notably taller than he was. "Mr. Kinneas," he said by way of greeting. I don't anticipate that you would come down here too often when I frequent the range."  
  
Irvine shrugged. "Pistol, eh?"  
  
Martine nodded. "That much should be obvious," he said. "I suspect that there's some reason you wanted to interrupt my practice?"  
  
Irvine made a wounded gesture. "A student can't talk to his Headmaster once in a while?" he asked. "There were some rumors going around that you were staying in Fisherman's Horizon. I was a bit surprised to see you here."  
  
Martine gave him a tired look. "Rumors are, by and large, spurious," he said. "You should know not to put too much stock into them."  
  
"It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in recent memory," Irvine defended.  
  
Martine appeared to concede that point--tacitly, of course. "What is it you want, Kinneas?"  
  
Irvine sighed. "Well, if you really want me to dig a question up, there is something I've been thinking about since we beat ol' Ulty."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I was thinking about transferring out of G-Garden, maybe taking the SeeD test--"  
  
"You want to go to Balamb." Martine sighted down the barrel of his pistol, brushing off imaginary specks of dust. "I don't even have to call up your records, Kinneas. Your performance doesn't merit it, and your grades _certainly_ don't merit it. You're an average student, at best. Average students don't get to be SeeDs."  
  
Irvine swung his rifle up onto his shoulder, causing Martine to flinch as the end passed his face. "What happened to the 'elite sharpshooter' you sent on the Deling City mission?" he asked, halfway smug.  
  
Martine sighed deeply. "I'd really rather not be reminded," he said. "I was trying to wash my hands of that mission. I couldn't spare a real professional, and I couldn't let your friends there know that."  
  
"So you lied."  
  
"Essentially."  
  
Irvine leveled a finger at him, smile widening ever so subtly. "Nah," he pronounced. "You're changing the story. You're not allowed to do that."  
  
Martine looked up sharply. "What?"  
  
"See, I can't trust you now," Irvine explained. "I know that you lied once, and I don't know that you aren't lying now. And since I can't trust anything you tell me, I have to draw my own conclusions."  
  
Martine gave him a tired look. "That's not the way it works."  
  
"Who says?"  
  
Martine crossed his arms. "Kinneas, no matter what you think my motives were, you can't argue with the facts. I had access to the reports, you know. I know what happened on that mission. If that's any indication--"  
  
"But it _isn't_," Irvine objected. "I mean, my aim was good, right? Not my fault that she had some shield thing."  
  
"You hesitated, soldier."  
  
"Wouldn't you?" Irvine shrugged. "And I made it up. Or did you ignore the rest of the report?"  
  
"If you're referring to your misadventures with the SeeD team, I hardly think that qualifies you."  
  
"You're talking about the misadventures that saved the world, man," Irvine clarified.  
  
"The series of mishaps and misdemeanors that coincidentally resulted in the salvation of the world," Martine clarified back. "I'm not sure there's a rule in SeeD you didn't break or bend. And taking a _Garden_ on a series of frivolous activities isn't even covered in the rulebook, it's so bizarre."  
  
"But it all turned out right in the end."  
  
Martine fixed Irvine with a cool glare. "You see this six-shooter, Mr. Kinneas?" he asked, holding up his pistol.  
  
Irvine glanced at it. "Yeah. Nice gun."  
  
"I want you to think about something," Martine said. "Let's pretend that each shot I have in here is a choice I have to make. How many do you think it would take--even with the best intentions--to end the world?"  
  
Irvine blinked. "What?" he asked. "What kind of a question is that?"  
  
"Think about it."  
  
Irvine stared at the diminutive gun. He tried to think about it. "I don't think you _could_ end the world with that thing," he said.  
  
Martine shook his head. Carefully, he pulled the gun up and aimed--right at the center of Irvine's forehead. "You're wrong," he said. "Your world, I could end in one."  
  
Martine waited a moment for that to sink in, and then lowered the gun. Irvine watched him carefully.  
  
"You're reckless," Martine pronounced. "You don't think--that's the problem. You have to be trained to know the consequences of your actions before you can be trained to be a responsible SeeD. You can't just float along on luck forever."  
  
Irvine folded his arms. "So that's no, then."  
  
"You have potential," Martine admitted. "But potential only gets you so far. I'm sorry."  
  
Irvine worked his jaw, feeling a throb of bitterness across the bottom of his stomach. "Are you?"  
  
Martine frowned. "Kinneas--"  
  
"It's pretty convenient for you," Irvine shot back. "Nice how you get a second chance; the rest of us don't."  
  
"A second--what are you implying?"  
  
"I don't know what your intentions were. Don't really care, either. But you helped take the world to hell and back. I don't think anyone in Garden will object if I say you're one of the most disciplined people around. So what's it gotten you? New and bigger chances to screw up?"  
  
"I've accepted responsibility for the consequences of my actions."  
  
"And I'm taking responsibility for mine." Irvine gestured. "It seems to me that luck can be just as valuable as discipline. More, even. Unless you know for sure what's going to happen, discipline isn't so great as you think it should be."  
  
"Don't split hairs with me, Kinneas," Martine warned. "That's a bad position for you to take."  
  
Irvine waved it off. "I don't mean one-hundred-percent, bet a gil to a gold brick certain," he said. "If you put a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger, they're probably going to get killed. If you empty that sixshooter of yours into a crowd, you'll suffer for it. But I never did anything that I knew would hurt people. I tried my best not to. I did what I thought was right. That's what that hesitation was--I didn't know what I could do that would turn out right there. That's as much discipline as you should need--and if you just mean discipline so that you can follow orders, do what you're told, then hell. Esthar probably makes _machines_ that can do that."  
  
Martine looked at him critically. "Now who's changing the story?" he asked. "According to the mission reports, you said you 'always froze like that.' That's _not_ weighing alternatives--it's panicking. And if you're going to debate every order that you're given...."  
  
Irvine swung the rifle down, resting its barrels against the ground. "You're right," he said. "I probably wouldn't make a good SeeD."  
  
Martine nodded, probably glad that he was listening to reason at last.  
  
"But if you can't do that debating, then you're not a good Headmaster. And--it's odd to say so, _sir_--but you seem to be doing a passable job to me."  
  
Martine raised both eyebrows skeptically. "You may the first student that's said that to me, soldier," he said. "I remember you were considerably less generous on the few occasions you've been brought to my office."  
  
"Well, maybe that's something," he said. "Think about the past, and everything starts looking funny. Maybe that's why we just keep changing the story again and again."  
  
Martine pondered that for a moment. "Hindsight is ever perfect," he agreed. "Well, Kinneas, I'll be sure to remember _this_ conversation. Do better in your classwork, and maybe I'll look on it more favorably."  
  
"So--"  
  
"Still no." Martine holstered his pistol, patting the butt of the gun with an air of finality. "Try me again in a semester or two. If you've shaped up a bit by then, we'll talk."  
  
Irvine glanced off to one side, slightly resentful. "Yes, _sir_," he said.  
  
Martine extended his hand, taking him by surprise. "You do have talent, soldier," he said. "I just don't want to see that go to waste." He gave Irvine a shade of a grin. "Some day, I'd like to refer to you as an elite sharpshooter without having to lie."  
  
Irvine took his hand, recognizing the wry edge to the smile and giving him one back. "I still think you meant it the _first_ time," he said.


	2. Cat's Affections

**_Cat's Affections  
(A.K.A. The Lion, The Witch And The Woman)_**  
  
Quistis was sitting in the library, doing not much of anything when Rinoa came in. She cringed slightly and turned away--she had always been a bit uncomfortable around the Forest Owl's "princess," and that was when the entire group was there along with them. She wasn't terribly interested in being alone with her for any period of time.  
  
Unfortunately, Rinoa seemed to be utterly oblivious to her unease. As soon as she saw her she approached, slipping easily into a chair next to her. "Quistis!" she exclaimed, as Quistis endeavored to put on a polite smile. "I didn't see you much at the party last night. Where were you?"  
  
_(Hiding,)_ she thought distantly. "Oh? ...I left early." She smiled apologetically. "I was tired. It had been a long day."  
  
Rinoa laughed, as if she had made the cleverest joke ever. "I suppose so," she said, leaning in as if they were sharing a secret. "It really was a terrible day. But at least it's over, right?"  
  
Quistis blinked. "I suppose so," she responded, suppressing a shudder and wondering how Rinoa could brush it off so easily.  
  
Rinoa paused, looking at her critically. "You're pretty quiet this morning," she observed.  
  
"Am I?" Quistis didn't know what to say about that.  
  
"Well... I guess you're kinda quiet all the time, aren't you?" Rinoa looked _almost_ concerned. "What's wrong?"  
  
Quistis felt a sudden sting of resentment. _(What, you think you've fixed all of Squall's problems so you come over to work on mine?)_ "What makes you think there's anything wrong?" she asked, more sharply than she had intended to.  
  
Rinoa drew back as if she had slapped her, and Quistis immediately felt sorry. She glanced away, quickly.  
  
"...you're not angry with me, are you?" Rinoa asked tentatively. Quistis looked back at her, surprised.  
  
"Why should I be _angry_ with you?" she asked.  
  
This time, Rinoa glanced away, and Quistis could have sworn--if she was the type who swore. The girl was _blushing_--a pale-rose coloration that spread delicately across her cheekbones, as if she had put it there with a brush. "About Squall--" she began.  
  
And Quistis came very close to swearing again. At herself for being such an idiot, at Squall for being Squall, and at Rinoa for somehow _noticing_ everything that she worked so hard to keep _anyone_ from noticing, ever.  
  
"I mean,' she continued, unmercifully, "I know you how you felt, and--"  
  
"Rinoa." Her tone was uncomfortably icy, but she didn't care.  
  
Rinoa glanced at her, looking shyly up through her eyelashes as if she was afraid that she was going to be scolded. Qusitis was momentarily flustered--she had to keep reminding herself that this girl was _not_ a SeeD, didn't see the world the way a SeeD did, didn't have nearly the control over emotions or the confidence that a SeeD would learn--she was someone whom Quistis didn't have any idea how to deal with.  
  
"_It's nothing_."  
  
Apparently it was the wrong answer. Rinoa sat up straight in her seat, eyes wide as if Quistis had just proclaimed that she was about to shoot herself. "No!" she spluttered, and then visibly calmed herself down. "I mean--it isn't _nothing_. If something is bothering you, then--"  
  
"Rinoa," she tried again, forcing a forgiving smile. "Really. You're happy; _he's_ happy. That's all that matters."  
  
"But what about you?"  
  
Quistis bit the inside of her lip.  
  
"I mean--I know you must have felt that way for a long time before I met you all, and--well, I just--"  
  
"It's all right," Quistis cut her off. She was never comfortable with this kind of so-called "girl talk," and Rinoa was making it decidedly _not_ easier. "It was just a... a hopeless infatuation." Rinoa and her god-be-damned skills of observation could probably tell that she was telling half-truths, but as long as she didn't make an issue of it Quistis didn't care. "I never actually thought it would... work out."  
  
Rinoa looked at her with pity. _Pity_. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It was silly of me anyway," Quistis said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Indulging myself like that. Leading myself on...." she sighed. "He's not exactly the ideal person, either. He never listens to anyone or anything, he's too independent, proud, moody--and, to top it all, you wouldn't _believe_ how adept he is at getting himself into things he can't get out of. But somehow, I always found a way to ignore all of that." She smiled, as if they were discussing pleasant matters over afternoon tea. "...it was... _very_ silly of me."  
  
Rinoa was looking at her with the oddest expression, and Quistis suddenly realized that--despite her intentions--what she had just said much have been very, _very_ awkward for Rinoa to hear. Embarrassed, she glanced away.  
  
"You could always get a cat," Rinoa said, after considering for a moment.  
  
Quistis looked up sharply. "What?"  
  
Now, Rinoa was fighting down a grin. "A cat," she said. "They're little animals about _this big_--"  
  
"Yes, I know what a _cat_ is," Quistis said, rather snappishly. "What makes you think that a _cat_ is going to make me feel any better?"  
  
The grin escaped, flooding Rinoa's face with mirth. "Well," she said, "they never listen to you, they're independent, proud, moody, and likely to get themselves into scrapes they can't get out of--_but_, you can always bell them or lock them in your room if you need to."  
  
Quistis stared, incredulously, as Rinoa's words sunk in. Then, unable to resist the young Sorceress's infectious grin, she started laughing. "You--" she started, shaking a finger at her accusingly. "_You_ are going to bring him nothing but trouble."  
  
Rinoa's smile widened, if that was really possible. "I know," she said. "I think he'll manage."  
  
"Oh, I don't doubt that. He seems to, somehow." She shook her head. "But you're not going to make it easy on him, are you?"  
  
Rinoa's eyes twinkled. "If I did, life would be no fun," she said. "And Squall? He's one person who _really_ needs to learn how to have fun."  
  
Quistis nodded wholeheartedly, and then bit back a sigh. "Well," she said, hoping to mask the lingering disappointment she still felt. "I wish you better luck with him than I had."  
  
Rinoa reached out, clapping her on the shoulder once or twice. "You too, Quistis," she said.  
  
Very nearly all of Quistis's brain locked up. "...excuse me?"  
  
"Have fun, I mean." Rinoa winked, wagging a finger at her. "It's not the end of the world, you know. You're only eighteen."  
  
Quistis chuckled a bit at that. "We're certainly not the average teenagers," she said, but nodded as well. "You're perfectly right, though. If we aren't going to let _him_ get away with brooding over things, I don't see why I should be exempt."  
  
"That's the spirit!" Rinoa gave her a cheerful thumbs-up. "So. No hard feelings, then?"  
  
"Of course not." She smiled. "And I'll be here if and _when_ you ever need a shoulder to cry on."  
  
"Ouch!" Rinoa laughed, feigning offense. "I'm sure I'll look you up at least once. It'll be nice to have someone who knows that this isn't as easy as it seems."  
  
Quistis stood up, straightening her outfit back into their original immaculate state. "Well," she said. "I had better be off. It was a pleasure talking to you, Rinoa."  
  
Rinoa affected a sigh. "Oh... where are you headed to?"  
  
Quistis hesitated a moment at that, before relaxing and giving her a conspiratorial wink. "Off to see about getting a cat," she said.


	3. The Best Of Enemies

**_The Best Of Enemies  
(A.K.A. Fishing For A Common Ground)_**  
  
When Xu had told him that Seifer was in Balamb, Squall hadn't honestly known what to think. It wasn't wholly incomprehensible that he might apply there for political asylum, but the idea of Seifer asking anyone--especially the government of his de facto hometown--to protect him was one that didn't sit quite well with the mental image of the Sorceress's Knight that had been developing over the past several weeks.  
  
He had tried to prepare himself for a bit of a shock when he came to Balamb. He was ready to confront a Seifer who was bitter, or disillusioned, or vengeful, or even depressed--  
  
--but he had nothing to say when he encountered a Seifer who was sitting calmly on the end of the Balamb docks, fishing.  
  
Seifer must have heard his boots on the wooden slats, because as soon as he approached the erstwhile Knight laid down the fishing pole next to two others, stood up, and turned around. He crossed his arms, waiting for Squall to make the first move.  
  
"...Seifer," Squall acknowledged.  
  
"Hm." Seifer looked him up and down, frowning disapprovingly. "...never figured you for the gloating type, Squall."  
  
Squall scowled, taking badly to Seifer's assumption. "I didn't come here to gloat."  
  
"Well, then, let's get it over with," Seifer snapped. "There's a good dueling ground just outside the city--"  
  
"_Seifer_." Squall was beginning to remember why he had thought this was such a stupendously bad idea.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I didn't come here to fight you."  
  
"Well, then what the hell _did_ you come here for? Fund-raising for the Youth Hero's Association?"  
  
He didn't quite spit, but he sounded as if he wanted to. Squall spent a moment deciding how he could retort, considered just snarling _"Screw this"_ and walking away, thought about the response that might elicit from _certain parties_ at Garden, and stood his ground instead. "You're still enrolled in Garden."  
  
If Seifer was at all surprised by the non-answer, he didn't show it. "I didn't need _you_ to tell me that, Leonhart. What, you want me to come back so they can kick me out formally?"  
  
Again, Squall wasn't entirely sure how to answer that directly. "Cid thought you might have been mind-controlled," he stated bluntly, letting Seifer read what he would into it.  
  
Instead of the response Squall would have expected--snide laughter, maybe, or outright anger--Seifer raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Think whatever you want," he responded, as if he couldn't care less. He turned away, sitting back down and picking up the fishing pole.  
  
Squall watched him carefully. "Were you?"  
  
"You want the real answer, Leonhart, or you want me to lie to ease your conscience?" His voice was sharp, as if he had chosen that moment to take offense.  
  
"The real answer."  
  
"No. I wasn't." He drew the fishing pole back and cast, causing Squall to flinch as the hook went whistling past his ear. "You can go home and report that to whoever you want. Have them mail the notice of my expulsion to the Balamb Hotel."  
  
Squall brought his hand up to his forehead in aggravation. Sometimes it seemed as if Cid and Xu sent him on these missions because they thought he needed more work hours, or something--if they had wanted someone to come and _talk_ with Seifer, there were probably about a thousand people in Garden who would do a better job of it than he would. Of course, there had probably been that many who could have wrapped up the Timber mission more quickly, or assassinated Edea successfully, or fought Ultimecia more efficiently... but, no, it always seemed to come down to _him_.  
  
After a moment, there was a noise from the end of the pier. He looked up, noticing that Seifer had risen again. "You're still here," his rival stated flatly.  
  
Squall made an acknowledging gesture with his right hand.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Squall frowned. That _was_ a very good question--and a difficult one to answer, even with another non-sequitur. "I don't know," he stated darkly.  
  
"That must be a first."  
  
"......." Squall grimaced. "Xu sent me."  
  
Seifer heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Well, as long as you're here, you might as well fish."  
  
Squall blinked, and immediately felt the need to verify what he had heard. "_Fish_."  
  
Seifer pointed to the three fishing poles. "You take one of those, you hold the thick end, and you put the end of the line into the water." Seifer had a remarkable grasp of the full range of condescending vocal tones. "It's easy. You _should_ be able to grasp it."  
  
Squall didn't respond. Seifer bent down, picking up two of the poles and holding one out to him. Feeling ridiculous all the while, Squall took it.  
  
Seifer promptly turned away and sat down, leaving Squall feeling even more like an idiot.  
  
After a moment, Seifer glanced back. "You just going to stand there, or what?"  
  
Squall shook off his reservations, and sat down on the edge of the pier with ill grace. Seifer acknowledged the action with a small snort, waiting for him to cast te hook into the water.  
  
Several moments passed in absolute silence.  
  
"So, that last fight in the Pandora." Seifer made an awkward gesture with one hand. "I noticed you used a Kessler street attack."  
  
"So?" Discussing the finer points of gunblade technique, while an easier topic than some others that could have come up, was nonetheless not what he had come for.  
  
...then again, neither was fishing, and yet.... "I taught you that," Seifer said, vindictively.  
  
Once again, Squall failed to see the point. "So?"  
  
"So I don't think you can really complain about people who fight dirty, _like me_."  
  
"...what?" A brief review of the conversation to date revealed that he hadn't been complaining in any way that he recognized as such.  
  
"The Dollet mission, genius," Seifer snorted. "_Told_ you you'd thank me when the time came."  
  
"Thank you for _what_?"  
  
Seifer turned to look at him, as if he was being unspeakably daft. "For teaching you that the world is full of _bastards_, Squall. What, you think that Kessler attack is _fair_?"  
  
Squall would have crossed his arms, but for the fishing pole still clenched firmly in his hands. "So, what are you saying? You think you're personally responsible for the victory over Ultimecia?"  
  
Seifer rolled his eyes toward the heavens. "No, Squall," he said, with infinitely-strained patience. "I'm saying I taught you more about fighting than _Instructor Trepe_ ever did. Thanks to _me_, you could take on anything." He smirked. "Even if they did fight dirty, like you."  
  
There was a light tug at Squall's fishing pole, which he ignored. He was too busy staring at Seifer, trying to figure out what the _hell_ was going on inside his mind. ...this was _Seifer Almasy_, or at least he _thought_ it was--his classmate, rival, _mentor?_, team leader, torturer, _enemy_--  
  
--fishing partner.  
  
Seifer glanced over, seemingly unperturbed by Squall's analytic stare. After a moment, he glanced at the water. "You have a bite," he stated matter-of-factly.  
  
"............." Squall turned to the fishing line, reeling it in slowly. "I'm glad to see that _you_ feel in a position to forgive _us_," he said.  
  
Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was forgiving anything?" he asked. "You're still all bastards. I just don't _care_."  
  
"That we _beat _you."  
  
"I thought you didn't come here to gloat."  
  
Squall suddenly regretted putting the fishing pole down. If he had it in his hand, he could have _thrown_ it down now. He had forgotten how _impossible_ Seifer was to deal with--although part of that might have been due to the fact that he had always gone out of his way to _avoid_ dealing with Seifer, if at all possible.  
  
He had a feeling that getting up and leaving now would be something akin to admitting defeat.  
  
"On the Field Exam," he said, heading off the subject from wherever it had been going.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You mentioned your '...romantic dream.'"  
  
Seifer groaned. "It didn't work out," he responded.  
  
"Really."  
  
"Really." Seifer tugged at his line, then re-cast it. "What do you care?"  
  
"Didn't seem like you," Squall answered.  
  
"Glad to see you _know_ me _so well_." He pressed a hand to his heart, mock-wounded.  
  
Squall ignored it. "Was that all this was?" he asked.  
  
This time, there was an unmistakably ironic edge to Seifer's voice. "You want the real answer, Leonhart, or you want me to lie to ease your conscience?"  
  
"...the real answer."  
  
Seifer stood up, taking his dropped fishing pole and grabbing the unused one as he did so. "What do you _think_?" he asked.  
  
Before Squall could retort, Seifer was off back up the pier. He stood and followed, stopping when Seifer paused at the doorway to a small equipment-rental shop. Seifer turned, gesturing vaguely back toward the mainland. "Tell Xu that I might stop in sometime and visit. ...'til then."  
  
Then he disappeared into the building, leaving Squall with that very clear dismissal. He waited a moment--debated going inside after him--  
  
--and turned to head back toward Garden.


End file.
